I'd Rather Have Lemon and Sugar
by 0oxymoronic0
Summary: Dean’s views of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ sometimes confused even his little brother. Mild Wincest. Oneshot.


"Let's have waffles

**Length: **818 words

**Spoilers: **Up to season 1 episode 9, nothing more.

**Rating: **PG-13 for Dean's mouth.

**Warning: **Wincest if you squint and do plenty of misinterpreting of perfectly innocent words and actions. If you picked up the supposed UST on the show, are able to interpret it as a fangirl/boy and are now here, you'll be fine.

**Notes: **Random thing mostly inspired by "everybody lives, Rose, just this once, everybody lives!" from Doctor Who season 1 episode 10. Set between Season 1 episodes 9 and 10 (appropriately) which are Home and Asylum, two of my favourites.

**Summary: **Dean's views of 'good' and 'bad' sometimes confused even his little brother.

**I'd Rather Have Lemon and Sugar**

"Let's have waffles!"

Sam stared. "Dude, you haven't had waffles since I was four years old. You bought them for us and then ate all of them, got sick from too much sugar and left the cooker on. Then Dad found out and banned you from eating them ever again. You _hate _waffles."

Dean snorted. "I do not! I just don't have them very often." Sam raised an eyebrow. "Alright, I never have them. Perfect time to start!"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "D'you think anywhere'll be open at this time of night selling _waffles_?"

Dean remained hopelessly optimistic and continued to grin in a stupidly manic fashion. "There does," he said, pointing, and (Sam wouldn't have been surprised if he skipped) made his way over.

--

Sam was sore, tired, sticky, and hot, and still couldn't stop thinking. _Waffles?! _He rolled onto his side and stared at Dean who, sleeping a few inches away curled almost in a ball still tasted of maple syrup and had crumbs by his mouth. He was smiling in his sleep.

This was _really_ starting to creep him out.

Sam sighed. He knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep. He reached over and shook Dean awake. "Dean. _Dean!_"

Dean flailed in the most delightful way and groped for something under his pillow. "Where?!" he yelled, and Sam found himself shuffling away a little.

"Dean, it's okay, it's just me." Dean stared at him, lay back down and closed his eyes. Sam sighed, and stared at the ceiling. "Dean. I woke you up for a reason." Dean opened an eye again; a silent prompt. "Why are you happy?"

Dean gave an almost pained groan and closed his eye again. "Dammit, Sam," he muttered as he snuggled further into the cushions.

"We're talking about this," he said firmly, and resisted the temptation to tickle Dean into submission. If he tried to put his fingers on his brother he'd just usurp it into something perverted. Dean's mouth formed in the shape to emit 'chick-flick' and Sam slapped him.

"OW! DAMMIT!" Dean sat bolt upright, staring at him angrily. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"I want to know why you're so happy!" he snapped back, glaring back. Full glare. Normally takes him, what, thirty seconds before he cracks?

Thirty seconds came and went. Dean continued glaring back.

"Cristo."

Dean groaned. "Saaaaam."

"Cristo!" he repeated, over his brother's complaints. "What, it's not like you! You eat _waffles_, you make us go to bed early, and you were _smiling_." Dean raised an eyebrow, but Sam ignored it. "Of course I'm gonna check you for possession!"

Dean's eyes narrowed and he rolled onto his back. Sam didn't follow his gaze to the ceiling. He let the silence drag out until the last possible moment, when Sam was opening his mouth, and Dean beat him to it. "Don't you think… it might be a good thing?" Sam raised an eyebrow questioningly, wondering what part of their life so far Dean was taking as _good._ Dean sighed. "Well, think about it, Sam. No one died today. Well, that poor dude lost half his arm, but no one actually _died._"

"I'm still not with you, Dean," he said, tone at least deigning to be apologetic.

"Why did no one die today, Sam?" he said softly.

"Because I – " Sam froze. "Oh." His brow furrowed dangerously. "You think this thing – whatever – that I did – saw – is a _good _thing?!"

"I don't know, Sammy! But think about it! Every time we go somewhere to beat some ugly ass thing it's 'cause someone's ended up dead, and we end up talkin' to people who've lost someone. This time we stopped it _before _andeveryone's okay. Isn't that a good thing?" Sam continued to stare at him blankly, and Dean sighed, rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes.

Sam stared at Dean's back for a long while. His breathing slowed and evened out, but Sam couldn't join him. He found himself tracing on the back of Dean's shoulder. "Guess I never knew you cared," he murmured, lying back down beside his brother. He at least attempted to sleep, letting his eyes drift shut.

Dean sighed under his hand. "Sammy?"

He opened his eyes. "Yeah?"

"'Course I do."

Sam's hand continued to run along his back, wondering what he could say to someone who had to put up with so much death and could still pretend it didn't matter.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Go to sleep."

"I will when you do."

Dean groaned, rolled over again. "Fair point." He looked at Sam before closing his eyes, forcing his breathing to calm, spread, and Sam watched him gently fall asleep. He resisted the urge to kiss his forehead.

"'Night," he whispered.

"Sammy?" His voice was thick.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"I will when you do."

This time, Dean didn't reply. Sammy smiled and closed his eyes.


End file.
